


We Don't Sleep in Vegas

by IBlameItOnTheKenways



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Barista Ezio, Bartender Desmond, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Las Vegas, M/M, Sexual Humor, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBlameItOnTheKenways/pseuds/IBlameItOnTheKenways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People seem to loose a lot of things in Vegas.<br/>Small things, like wedding rings, or something bigger, like their pride.<br/>But Altair had lost Kadar, and that's just too much.</p>
<p>Or: Weird people keep walking into Desmond's bar and he ends up with a bunch of strangers trying the figure out what's going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Don't Sleep in Vegas

**Author's Note:**

> The titles are cocktails and every chapter has a list of ingredients at the beginning. I think it's a good idea, but feel free to tell me if it's confusing.

  * _6 cl dark rum_
  * _10 cl Gingerbeer_



 

The Den was a small, but famous coffee shop and bar on the Strip.  
Desmond has been working there since he moved to Las Vegas, and he had seen his share of fucked up shit, and the guy with the bloody nose and scarred lip who sat silently by the counter was much more interesting than the sixth drunk proposal of the night.

Somehow he didn't look “Vegas” enough.

He had sun kissed skin and cat-like eyes that shone bright in the flickering neon. He looked at the drink list like he was trying to figure out what some names mean, then ordered something simple. He didn’t have the fake smile or the typical “I’m partying on the Strip” attitude. He didn’t have anything particularly interesting on him.

Desmond hoped that the mysterious man wasn’t one of those people who came to Las Vegas to have “fun” then kill themself.

He didn't have much time to think, because an already half-drunk girl ordered a gin-fizz, champagne, and one of the fancy smoking cocktails.  
He didn't notice when the stranger with the amber eyes left.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Connor stared at the bar in front of him.  
He was holding a piece of old, blue paper in his trembling hand, trying to ignore it’s existence.  
He knew he shouldn’t go in, he told himself that the whole idea was stupid and useless, and it was a mistake to visit Las Vegas in the first place.  
He took a deep breath and stepped in.  
He needed to know if her mother's stories were true.

The Den was a neon mess, an ocean of flashing light, alcohol and careless laughter.  
Everyone was talking, moving and smiling with way too many teeth. Their hands were restless and Connor caught glimpses of small, not-so-sober touches and hungry, desperate kisses.

He sat down on one of the tall, blood-red barstools scanning the counter for little markings and barely noticeable symbols.  
Suddenly someone cleared his throat so loud, that it made him jump.

“Hey uhm… Can I get you something, or you’re just here to stare?”  
Connor didn’t answer at firts, not sure what to say.  
The he decided that the bartender might know something, and asking him about the markings wouldn't hurt.  
“I am here because of two small hearth symbols that have been craved into the counter.”  
The bartenders raised his eyebrows, then shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.  
“That’s...amazing. Sad, but amazing. The old counter has been replaced just last week. The thing was full of small cravings, monographs and such. I always wondered who left them, or what their stories were. The hearts were the first ones I’ve noticed when I started working here, it’s just…” he let out a soft sight and shook his head again, smiling this time.  
“So, what’s the story?”  
Connor stared at the man for a while, then shifted uncomfortably.  
“It...It’s from the night when my parents met. It was my mother’s idea.”  
The other man raised his eyebrows.  
“Have they ever visited it? Or…”  
“My mother is dead, I don’t know my father. They’ve never been here after that night.”  
His firts sentence held no emotion, it was robotic, something he had said so many times, that he didn’t bother to think about what it really meant for him.  
The only answer he got was a suprised “oh”.  
The bartender turned away for a couple minutes and served others, while Connor just sat there nervously drumming with his fingers.  
When the young man faced him again and offered a free drink with a genuine smile he gladly accepted it.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Shay was getting too old for organizing bachelor parties and he knew it.  
It was the middle of the night and he was still reading the ideas of Arno Dorian and his friends and the saddest thing was that most things were more creative than what he had came up with.  
He sighed and decided to make another coffee.

He poured a lot more rum in it than he should have.

Arno couldn’t be the son of Charles Dorian, right?

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

At the end of his shift Desmond smelled like vomit, sugar and smoke. He was cleaning the counter half-asleep when Ezio showed up, smiling and already talking about coffee and milk foam.  
He helped with the cleaning and Desmond told him about the strange man and the native boy and the heart markings. The Italian made a cup of expresso for him and they talked until eight, when Ezio opened.  
Desmond left shortly after the first customer arrived, and dived into the living, breathing city.  
The city that was both sick and beautiful at the same time and held a weird, unusual adventure for him.

 


End file.
